


Sans' Guide to Moving On

by gigiree



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Not Quite Fake dating, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Sans - Freeform, dumbest person you know, not at all according to keikaku, reader is female, the smartest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23238370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigiree/pseuds/gigiree
Summary: You thought he'd reject you, and the business would be over and done with. You'd had it all imagined already. You could go back to being friends again. You should've known there are no certainties when Sans is involved.“ bud, I got it! give me ten days. ten days and I’ll show you how horrible a boyfriend I’d be! i’ll even help you find someone better. i promise.”God, you should've never opened your damn mouth.
Relationships: Alphys/Undyne (Undertale), Asgore Dreemurr/Toriel, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 98
Kudos: 342





	1. Step 1: Blurt out your feelings and pretend it never happened

It begins with a confession. Yours, to be exact. Your long-planned confession to your good friend Sans.

“I...i….” His jaw works it’s way up and down, bobbing like the branches in the wind above you.

Oh god. You’ve fucked up. The sting is...less...than you expected. Probably because you’d gone in with such low expectations anyway. You have an out too. You’d told Undyne to call you at exactly 7:30 PM if she hadn’t received the all clear from you.

That “all clear” doesn’t look like it’s coming. Not when Sans is looking at you like you’ve just told him you’d discovered how to travel back in time or some crazy shit like that.

You smooth down your flowy chiffon skirt and give a casual sniff. You’re not going to cry. It’s just the spring air giving a wake-up kiss to your allergies. That’s all.

Of course you’d picked to confess underneath the fucking blooming cherry tree on the lacquered bench near the dog park you two like to hang out in.

(Well, past-you, now this spot’s ruined forever.)

He gives you his casual smile, but he’s sweating. You offer him a tissue and shrug in your oversized cream sweater.

“Like I said, no expectations. I just...wanted you to know. I’m...I guess, I’m just being selfish.” You say evenly, despite the raging anxiety bubbling in your chest. God, are you so glad you’d wanted to be an actress in high school. All those drama classes have saved your emotional ass so many times.

He takes the tissue and mops his ivory forehead. Adorable.

“heh...uh...kid. ‘m flattered and all but uh...i don’t feel the same way. sorry.” He reaches for you, trying to comfort you the way he usually would when you’re an emotional mess, but he meets your wide eyed gaze and flinches. “i like someone else.”

Oh...oh dear. Well, that certainly hurts, but it’ll make it easier to move on. Your smile is very cat-like, curled so well at the corners in an extra effort not to let it drop into a frown.

He can’t even look at you now.

You sniff again. You’re not crying, really. You pull out a tissue to dab at your nose. Damn these allergies. Your smile remains.

“That’s okay. I get it. Sorry this was so out of the blue. We can uh...fuggedaboutit.”

He makes an awkward sound. Somewhere between a laugh and a cough.

You shift your glance up, staring at a branch heavy with early pink blooms. You think they look like little stars. If you make a wish on them, could you go back to before you opened your big fat mouth?

You sniff again.

His hand curls into the fabric of your sleeve.

“listen...bud...im not...i suck. as a person and I’d probably be an even worse romantic partner. i forget anniversaries, put work over social stuff all the time, buy generic presents based on superficial likes. im always late to things, lazy...ask paps...m’ not cut out for this relationship stuff. and you’re…”

He gestures at all of you wildly. With a surprising amount of vigor than his usual gestures, actually.

“I don’t get it.” You say flatly again, leveling your gaze at him. You tell yourself it’s a staring contest. You have to win. That’s all this is. It’s not like you’re admiring how much like stars his eye lights are. 

“you’re you. you’re so good. You’re...gorgeous and funny and so smart and weird in the best ways.”

You flush, but that’s not what you meant. Besides, if you’re all that, then that must mean the person he likes...is probably amazing.

“Thank you, but I’m talking about what you said earlier. You’re all that stuff yes. I already knew that, but I really like you. It’s because you’re you. You’re also insanely intelligent, funny, charming, kind, and thoughtful in a way that isn’t mandated by commercialized holidays.” You retort.

You keep on looking at him. He stares on back. Staring contest, come on. You can win this.

He buries his head in his hands. 

Victory! 

You sniff again. Your eyes burn a little. Damn allergies. You dab at the corners of your eyes gently.

You’re not ready for when he surges forward and pulls you into a hug. Your face is pressed awkwardly into his collarbone, but if you moved, you know all the emotions carefully piled up in your mind will fall out of their neat pile and out your mouth.

So you stay still.

Sans pulls away, a broad smile on his face.

It’s the same smile he had when he’d (on an unforeseen high from some laced dog biscuits) decided to make the machine in his basement into a glorified toaster.

The smell of smoke lingered in his house for months.

It’s the same smile he’d had when he told you he’d successfully made Schrodinger’s Cat. The cat in question had been horribly split in half, a void black coloring the side of it where organs would have been visible. It had mewed happily when you gave it a chin rub, seemingly okay.

Much to your consternation, it’s other half was also alive and well ten miles away in Alphys’ lab. Sans had merely waved off your questions with “if electrons can do it, why can’t cats?”

So that smile tells you there’s nothing sane or stable that’s going to follow. His eyes are wild and too bright and his hands on your shoulders are tight.

You sniffle again.

“ bud, I got it! give me ten days. ten days and I’ll show you how horrible a boyfriend I’d be!” He sounds giddy. You’re dizzy. You don’t know how far this is going to go, but your protests are drowned out.

“i’ll even help you find someone better. i promise.” 

You know he doesn’t make promises lightly. Oh god, maybe he thinks he’s got to make it up to you. He probably feels really guilty. Maybe you should let him do this...just to alleviate his guilt. Then you both could go back to lazy park bench days feeding the squirrels and pigeons and watching them fight for food.

God this is such a shit show.

You laugh. He takes that as a yes. He shakes your hand and you both laugh when the whoopie cushion sounds off, heralding the start of a terrible idea. 

Your laughter is broken off by the shrieking of your phone. The ring tone you’d specifically chosen for Undyne is a horrible meme rendition of Mettaton’s key musical number. You regret your past choices, but pick up anyways as you give Sans a sheepish grin.

“Hello?” 

“ _ YO LOSER, THERE’S AN EMERGENCY! YOU DIDN’T TEXT ME THE ALL-CLEAR!” _

You hold the phone away from your ear, wincing as Undyne’s well-meaning screeches come out.

Sans looks at you with a questioning gaze. Gosh, he’s so cute when he can’t keep up with your bullshit. 

“Uh...yeah...I’ll be there!”

“HURRY! SASUKE AND NARUTO ARE ABOUT TO KISS!”

You’re not quite sure what to make of that. You give a strained hum of approval. In a whisper-shout, Undyne also expresses her condolences that the confession didn’t go well.

“WE CAN HAVE A GIRLS’ NIGHT!”

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds good. Mmmhmm.” You say quietly, your lips pressed thin.

Sans tilts his head at you. 

“Girl problems,” you mouth. That’s not entirely a lie. 

He has the good grace to not inquire further as you extricate yourself from the bench and this awkward situation. You confirm with Undyne that you’ll be there, wave off her second round of condolences, and hang up.

Sans looks up at you. He looks surprisingly small here in the growing dark. A sudden breeze showers you both with pink petals. How poetic.

You tuck your hair behind your ear and your skirt floats on the breeze. 

You do not notice the slight look of awe on his face as you wave goodbye.


	2. Step 4: Acknowledge defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not quite disastrous, but you're polite to a fault.

“ _UUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHH!”_

Undyne groans, her hands hit her face with a wet slap that resounds in the small living room. It’s audible even over the Lo-Fi music they’ve got quietly playing in the background. Alphys gives a little click of her tongue in disapproval, but the pity beams like lamplight from her round, dark eyes and you feel the urge to squirm.

She’s looking at you like she does her science projects. You’re not entirely sure you like that. 

“Look. I did what was right! I confessed in a calm, mature manner and made sure not to pressure him!” 

Undyne groans again, but this time takes your face into both her clammy hands and sighs sadly.

“And we helped you look so cute! You wore the cute peachy skirt with the cream sweater. GOD WE EVEN BOUGHT THAT TIN BUCKET’S MAKEUP PALETTE FOR THE SHINY PINK BLUSH!”

Alphys coughs.

“H-honey, I thought we bought that to support Mettaton’s business venture?”

“That too!” Undyne shoots out quickly, placating her girlfriend. “This was a test run though and it did NOT LIVE UP TO HIS ADVERTISING.”

“I think you were supposed to take the ‘charm any gal or fellow into a lust-induced coma’ with a grain of salt, Undyne.” You manage to say with your cheeks squished.

Alphys winces.

“M-maybe a lot of grains of salt.” She ventures, clicking her claws in nervousness.

Undyne presses on, golden eye piercing into yours like her spears would an opponent. Target locked. Aim acquired.

“Well what exactly did he say?” She asks.

Ah...shot successful. You try to ignore the lance of embarrassment. Your neatly styled hair is falling from the pins they’d painstakingly put in your hair. 

You feel your face settling into that placid smile you’ve trained yourself to have when emotions get too turbulent in your chest.

“He said he likes someone else.”

“Yikes.” Undyne says sympathetically. That, coupled with Alphys’ cry of pity makes your neutral smile solidify into that familiar expression of pleasant neutrality.

“It’s okay.” You say, only to find your face squished a little harder.

Undyne frowns.

“THAT’S IT! THAT’S IT RIGHT THERE!”

You struggle to ask what. Thankfully, Alphys does for you.

Undyne turns your head in Alphys’ direction. In response to her pity, you smile more.

“THAT! That really stupid smile she’s got going on when she’s hiding. IT’S A MASK, ALPHYS!”

“O-OH! I see it, Babe! Good catch!”

You find your composure breaking. You’re not very good at controlling your blushing. You can feel it crawling up your neck. Your smile falters.

“W-what’s so bad about it? It helps keep things professional!”

Undyne lets you go and holds your shoulders. Her golden eye won’t stop digging into yours. You wonder if she’s made it to your pituitary gland yet.

“Does Sans know that your laugh sounds like your choking on food?”

“W-WHAT?! Undyne what does this have to do wi-”

“DOES HE KNOW THAT YOU’RE SCARED OF MUSHROOMS?”

“Undyne, I really don’t get where you’re going with this.”

Alphys gasps in understanding. She comes to stand at Undyne’s elbow, excitedly tugging on your sleeve.

“D-does he know that you once wore cat ears and bell for a month after you watched Mew Mew Kissy Cutie?”

“That was in middle school!” You defend.

“DOES HE KNOW THAT THE SHAPE OF PRETZELS MAKE YOU FEEL NAUSEOUS?!”

“CONDITIONED TASTE AVERSION, UNDYNE. LOOK IT UP.” You yell back.

The questioning goes back and forth. You are tired by the end of it and your friends have twin looks of solemn understanding.

“You need to go deeper, wimp. Gotta open yourself up a lot more around him. Sans isn’t...he’s lazy. He won’t take the time to chase what isn’t right in his smug, little face.” Undyne concludes. 

She pats your back a little too harshly, but you’re too winded to do much but cough.

“He said I was weird already. He’s gotta know enough about me, right? If that much wasn’t enough to get him to like me, then there’s nothing I can do.” You relent. Your eyes sting a little. 

Stupid allergies acting up. Undyne probably opened a window somewhere to scream at the sun or something.

Alphys draws you into an awkward side hug. Her golden scales dig into your shoulder, but she means well.

“Y-you’re still friends, right? M-maybe there’s a chance.”

Your answering smile is still dishearteningly neutral. It reeks of giving up. Undyne hates it.

“He likes someone else. There’s nothing to be changed about that. I’m not gonna be a creep and just be his friend in the hopes that someday he might like me like that. I’d rather still be his friend and keep his company in my life. He’s worth it.”

Undyne groans for the third time tonight, but something is softer about the way she pinches your cheek.

“Why do you gotta sound so grown up when you give up? Your makin’ it harder for me to cheer you on, loser.”

You laugh.

“I am an adult. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. Just that I’d like to try. Besides, he’s already going out of his way to show me what a ‘bad boyfriend’ he’d be. Might as well let him try those ten days.” You shrug. Your eyes are stinging again. Damn allergies. You sniff.

You can almost hear the record scratch. You know the kind played in comedy sitcoms when a situation needs a pause because it’s so ridiculous. Oh no, wait. That is actually a record scratch. Undyne had stopped the Lo-Fi tunes with a single claw on the record player spinning on their side table.

You wince. That’s probably no good for the record.

“WHAT?!”

“W-what?!”

“It’s not going to be easy being his friend?”

“N-no, AFTER that!”

“YEAH THE PART ABOUT HIM SHOWING YOU HOW BAD A BOYFRIEND HE IS?” Undyne yells, leaping over her coffee table to stand in front of Alphys and you.

“H-he said to give him ten days.” You choke it. “He’s just feeling guilty. I might as well let him feel better. It doesn’t hurt any-”

“BY ASGORE’S FLUFFY ASS!” Undyne roars. 

You jump. Alphys jumps. 

Then Undyne begins cackling. She’s laughing so hard, she’s shaking the couch. The air is sparking with manic energy. Oh god, the last time she was in a mood like this, they’d had to close off an entire bedroom because it smelled permanently of sea water and dampness.

Undyne wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. 

“Good call. Oh man. This is great. He’s actually putting in effort. Let him try.” She guffaws out.

Alphys seems to catch on to something, because her eyes widen and glisten behind her glasses.

You don’t like this. You don’t like this at all.

“It’ll be fine, ____. Just go with i-it.” Alphys tries to comfort you, but you’re not exactly comforted.

\----

**hotdogdays:** don’t apologize for a bad day. otherwise you’ll have to pay a penal-tea.

**Teabaggins:** XD that’s the worst one yet. But it got one of those nose laughs from me. You know the kind where you breathe out because something’s slightly funny? lololol.

**hotdogdays:** come on! don’t i get at least a booger laugh? like hard enough to dislodge some mucus? Isn’t that how that works?

**Teabaggins:** ugh GROSS. DISGUSTING. INSTANT BLOCK.

**Hotdogdays:** you’re too weak to do it, bud.

**Teabaggins:** maybe so, but that was the worst anther you could’ve given.

**Hotdogdays:** anther?

**Teabaggins: l** ike in a flower! You said bud! Like flower bud!

**Hotdogdays:** don’t think you have the stamen-a to keep up with my puns.

**Teabaggins:** :( you’re right. Not today. But i got distracted for a bit. Thank you <3

**Hotdogdays:** i know i’m just a friendly stranger, but wanna talk bout it? Sometimes it’s easier with someone you don’t know very well.

**Teabaggins:** ah. Thanks for the offer, Strange Friend. it means a lot. But there isn’t much you can do when the person you like doesn’t like you back.

**Hotdogdays:** sorry to hear that.

**Teabaggins:** :) tis life. We move on, right?

**Hotdogdays:** guess so. you sound so ugh...mature. sure you’re not like 80?

**Teabaggins:** >:O i’ll have you know i’m an esteemed 95!

**Hotdogdays:** haha few more years and you’ll be just like me. pile of bones.

**Teabaggins:** I’m sure you’re not THAT scrawny!

**Hotdogdays:** am big boned.

 **Teabaggins:** I have a feeling you’re giving me clues, but I can’t pick them up right now. I’m ugh...really tired.

**Hotdogdays:** KK. let you go so you can have your old folks’ nap. let me know how the bingo game goes.

**Teabaggins:** Har Har. Talk to you later, Dog. Thanks for the pick-me up.

**Hotdogdays:** no prob

Sans tosses his phone across the bed. It lands with a dull thud on the round pile of sheets at his feet. He feels like he used to when his blue magic first started manifesting. At times stupidly floaty. Light.

At others like Undyne had suplexed him into the deepest parts of waterfall and all the weight of that dark water was pressing on him.

_But there is a problem_ , Sans thinks. And it’s a stupid one. He feels a pang of empathy for you. He understands now. TeaBaggins likes someone else. The person he likes likes someone else. So this is how you’d felt. Heavy. Embarrassed, maybe? God and you’d built up the courage to confess and he’d shot you down so easily.

He should’ve been kinder. Maybe he should’ve asked you more questions and tried to be more gentle. He thought he’d been, but if this was the pain you’d been feeling, then perhaps it hadn’t been enough. But you’d been smiling. That same soft, sweet smile you always had on. Maybe you’d been able to talk yourself through the pain and you really were okay by the time you’d confessed. You’re smart. You’d taken a few psych classes if he remembers. You’d probably figured out a way to deal with your emotions in a healthy way.

He’s a little jealous.

He curls his phalanges into his pillow, dead set on making it up to you. He knows he’s terrible. It shouldn’t be hard to convince you otherwise. He just has to be his usual sloppy, disgusting self and you’d go running.

Brave you...stubborn you...he thinks fondly...you’d probably still try and be his friend. He’d be okay with that.

\---------

His phalange clicks on his new phone screen as he rereads the text messages he’s exchanged with you. It’s been two weeks since you confessed. Two weeks since he’s seen you. This is, perhaps, the longest stretch without seeing you he’s had in a while.

**hepburn:** lol I guess it’s easier to talk like this. I’m sorry. Just need a little time. 

**sans:** no worries. i get it. don’t gotta apologize for something normal kid.

**hepburn:** thanks. But yeah...that’s basically how it went down. Undyne gave me the final push to talk to you...hahaha.

**sans:** heh. wouldn’t expect less from her. glad you didnt feel forced to though.

**hepburn:** Are you sure you’re okay going through with this? Remember, you can always bow out.

**sans:** >:/ 

**hepburn: -_-**

**sans:** hate breakin’ promises.

**Hepburn** : I know. Thanks, sans. See you Saturday.

It’s Saturday. He switches to his internet browser app and it opens on the same tab he’s perused endlessly for the past two weeks. 

**wikiNOW: How to Move On From Your Crush**

He’s impressed. You’d already managed to confidently stumble your way through steps 1-3 all on your own. 

You’d acknowledged your feelings months ago, according to you. You’d proceeded to talk to a trusted friend (read Toriel) about those feelings, after a several day-long crisis that had you eat a record number of Nice Cream cartons. Then you’d confessed in a mature, clear way that left him with so many chances to duck out.

You really are amazing.

He scrolls through the article, tapping on the fourth item. He feels a lance of shame because...tibia honest, he hasn’t even managed to acknowledge his own feelings for that someone else he’d mentioned.

It had been your earnest, open confession that had driven him to spit out the truth. He thinks you’re funny like that. You had a knack for making him spit out the most embarrassing things without realizing it. You’re such a good friend though. You always react with that same neutral, friendly expression. He doesn’t feel judged.

Even when his ideas tend to be a bit more hazardous or strange, you don’t bat an eye. You take it in stride. 

When his house had been filled with smoke, you’d spent the day with the rest of them airing it out and cleaning off the soot from the corners. When he’d made Schdrodinger’s Cat, you’d managed to find it a nice home with an elderly scientist that could take both halves home and manage it’s special diet of stardust.

You remind him of his Internet friend @teabaggins in that respect. He appreciates that. That ability to take on any new facet of him and not make him feel like he’s the worst. Unfortunately, that might make his job harder. 

Sans sighs, checking his Bumblr feed. Tea had posted another discourse on voter suppression. Their next post is a 15 second loop of their masked-self dancing to Baby Shark. God, he feels his very Soul heat up at the combination of careful Justice and absolute absurdity.

He goes to his direct messages to reread his conversation with Teabaggins. He’s a bit worried. They hadn’t answered the usual good morning greeting.

It’s a bit pathetic really. Having a crush on a long time internet friend whose face he’s never even seen. It’s probably a monster thing, but he has a feeling their Soul is something special.

Ugh. He can easily go down a road not appropriate for a cafe during daytime. He’s early too, so he still has about ten minutes until you show up. He distracts himself by listing out Bohr’s equations and then mentally manipulating them to account for his Blue magic. 

You two have a standing not-date at this cafe. You like to frequent it because of the cute board games you never quite play by the rules with. You also like the creaminess of their chai lattes. You’d said once that they’re the only place in town that gets it right.

You’d been right.

You show up a few minutes later, dressed in a pink sweater tucked into belted jeans. Your hair is unstyled today. Your face is flushed from exertion. He watches through the window as you primly dismount lyour beach cruiser and lock it to the bike rack outside.

Your steps are fluid. Your mannerisms are careful, polite.

You’re so put together. It’s weird in a great way. Admirable. He wishes he had a bit more of your self-restraint. It wouldn’t hurt to have some of that natural pleasantness you exuded too.

Uncharacteristically, you trip over an old tile in the walkway that’s sticking out. He watches your pleasant expression break into one of surprise. You make an adorable squawk. You catch yourself before you think anyone noticed, brush out any wrinkles in your jeans, and walk like nothing happened.

He laughs quietly. There’s something about you putting yourself back together so fast that’s charming.

His greeting has the usual casualness infused into it, but there’s a bit more softness in his inflections. A little more effort into his words because he doesn’t want to hurt you again.

You smile up at him.

“You got the chai-latte? It’s good right?”

Sans hums in agreement.

“It’s no ketchup.”

You tilt your head sweetly, a bewildered but pleasant inquiry.

“Ketchup?”

‘’s my favorite drink.”

He waits for your disgust, playful or serious. He wants to see how you’d react. Disappointingly, you only nod...irksomely pleasant. Tea would have said something about gagging at that. He would like to see the expression on their face should he ever chug a bottle in front of them.

“I’ll make a note of that.” You say steadily.

(Little does he know, you’re mentally gagging. You don’t want to yuck his yum. What if it’s a cultural thing?)

He slurps his latte with deliberate zeal. The way he’d enjoy a nice bottle at Grillby’s in front of Paps and Undyne. Without worry.

You jump a little.

He grins.

Not even an hour in, and he’s already turning off your crush on him. This is great.

(You’re actually really glad he’s feeling relaxed enough with you to slurp his drink. You feel warm and comfortable. Your smile is truly relaxed at this point. Too bad you don’t have much in the range of expressivity. It looks the same as your neutral, polite smile.)

He has a milk moustache. You are disconcertingly clean. Not a single drop spilled. You hand him a napkin, politely of course.

Your nails are even nicely manicured, he notices. They’re long and shiny and a shade of soft yellow.

They’re pretty. Tea had mentioned that they bite their nails when they get nervous. _Why does it matter? Different strokes for different folks._

He wonders how he’d ever be able to keep up with you. He then corrects himself a second later with the fact that it doesn’t matter.

When it comes time to eat the accompanying cake, he makes a show of opening his jaw and showing off the intimidating sharp fangs that are usually tucked into his seamless smile. His blue tongue pokes out at the corner cheekily as he picks up the crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

He grins at you, that same smug expression Undyne hates gracing his usually cute skull.

You open your mouth to say something, but then seem to think better of it.

“Was the cake good? I hope they put enough magic into it! It can be kind of heavy without it.” 

Concerned about others, like always. His expression droops a bit. You’re a hard one to crack. You’re really making him work for this, aren’t you? Well, you wouldn’t be you if you couldn’t make him try harder. You had a habit of doing that and he can never keep up.

Not with that sweet, steady personality of yours.

(You want to scream. Those fangs are glistening in the soft light of the cafe, but you feel warm for an entirely different reason. It’s not fair. You’re trying to get over him. Why is the universe fucking you over? This sucks so many balls, you wouldn’t be surprised if this is karmic retribution for your internet antics.)

Sans decides to go hard or go home. Horrible pick up lines. Someone as classy as you would hate them!

“cake was sweet. not as sweet as you though.” He winks at you over his plate.

You choke on your own latte. The cinnamon burns.

You go pale and look at him with wide eyes. Your face is flushed. Your irises watery. Maybe it’s just your allergies again?

He gives an awkward laugh. Maybe he went too far? Was it really that bad?

For a moment, your usual pleasant demeanour goes dark. It’s a split second, but then your smile is back in place, eerily soft. 

You ball up your napkin.

“That was bad, Sans. As punishment, take this!” 

There isn’t much warning. You’re being playful. This is more than your usual playful too. You don’t usually engage in physical humor. He isn’t expecting it when you throw your balled up napkin and it lands square in his eye socket.

He gives a garbled yell of surprise as he leans too far back in his chair and falls to the ground with a loud clatter.

You’re already rounding the table, apologies spewing out of your frazzled mouth in a song that’s unfamiliar. He’s never heard you this distressed.

The napkin sits in his eye socket, blocking half the sight he has of the wood paneling on the ceiling. It’s a dull hurt compared to the sharpness of his skull hitting the floor.

Your hands are fluttering over him. Other patrons in the cafe are already giving choruses of “are you okay’s?”

It’s your hands that help pull him up, and your eyes that search his remaining good one with worry. 

Your eyes are watery and it hits him like a misaimed bone attack from Paps as a babybones.

Those weren’t your allergies. They were tears. He’s such an idiot. He thinks he deserves this, even as the world rights itself and the napkin falls out with an embarrassing papery smack onto his lap.

He makes out a barista to your right, helping pull the chair back up to the table. 

“Are you okay, sir? Everything okay here?” The barista asks with professional concern. They have a look of pleasant neutrality on their face. 

He turns to look at your face. Your brows are pinched with worry. There’s a dimple at the corner of your mouth more pronounced with your frown. 

“I’m so sorry, S-sans! I didn’t mean to...I…”

He waves off the barista.

“sorry, didn’t mean to be a latte trouble for ya. i’m good. thanks for the help.”

You help him settle into his chair again and he lets you while he gathers his faculties. He’s stunned. You’d become less composed. It was...surprising in a good way.

He laughs then and grabs your hand before you can offer him another napkin to brush off the dust from his jacket.

“thanks, kid. just surprised, that’s all. didn’t think i’d fall for you when we’re supposed to be doin’ the opposite.”

You blink up at him bewildered. Your frown settles into a strained smile. It feels a little like a fog has lifted. Like there’s a burst of clarity around your face and he’s truly seeing it for the first time. His face is no longer smug.

It’s soft and he finds his smile becoming seamless again. After all, who is he to judge your mask when he wears his own so well?

Ironic. He shakes his head. 

Maybe...just maybe...even if he can’t help himself, he can help you. Get you to open up a little more. Make you more willing to share. Then when he finds that perfect person for you, you’ll be ready and they’ll be absolutely starstruck by the you behind that pleasant smile. 

He’s sure of it.

His fingers curl around your hand and squeeze reassuringly.

Your neutral smile comes back, disappointingly. You withdraw your hand politely.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Sans thinks he’s being kind when he says _yes_. You were hoping you’d get some reprieve, but politeness dictated that a date should not end after only an hour. Not if said date was a friend.

Your heart sinks in your chest when he shrugs and says “yes”.

\----

Sans has gone to buy you two ice cream cones from a nice blue bunny guy.

You take this time to check your Bumblr app.

You smile when you see your friend has wished you a good morning. You’d forgotten to check earlier, having been so nervous about your Not-Date with Sans today.

You smile as you type out a reply.

**Teabaggins:** Good afternoon to you! Lol to make up for the late reply, have this pigeon meme.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell that i've been watching too much miraculous ladybug? love square galore.


	3. Step 5: Accept these things about Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there’s a lot of projection.

It’s not up to you to change who you are just so your crush can like you. You know this. You’re a grown adult with a (somewhat) solidified view of who you are. You also understand that it’s absolutely normal to present people with a myriad of facets all specifically tailored to the experience anticipated.

Your therapist had said as much. No, you do not have Borderline Personality Disorder. Yes, you’re a bit paranoid and dependent on appearances, but it comes with a disgustingly altruistic purpose.

You don’t want to burden others with your own idiosyncrasies. Again, your therapist’s words, not yours.

You understand this. So you hate yourself for looking in the mirror and trying different smiles and wondering which one Sans might like the most.

“It doesn’t matter. He likes someone else anyway. Move on.” You tell yourself, completely ignoring the fact that you have another outing with him tomorrow after your screenwriting class.

You watch your expression drift down into one of melancholy. The dimple at the corner of your mouth flashes at you, almost in warning.

_ DANGER! DANGER! GET OVER IT ALREADY! _

See, Sans isn’t entirely wrong in thinking you’re a kind person. You are. You’ve worked hard to cultivate it and kindness isn’t an easy plant to grow in the drought of human decency you find at the heart of this city. 

And yet,  _ this is something you’re completely blind to _ , you’ve forgotten to water the patch of kindness in your heart that’s been designated for you. I _ sn’t that a shame? _

Self-loathing is a nasty little pest, but you’re too exhausted to stop it from gnawing on your heart’s garden. A pest Sans probably knows little about. 

He always looks so sure and at ease...it must be a charmed life for someone so funny and smart as he. It’s part of why you like him. Because he makes you believe for just a moment that you also deserve to be happy with your present self. That you can rest.

Your alarm goes off, letting you know that your chemistry assignment is due in three hours.

Fuck. You need a distraction. Bumblr it is.

\----

**Teabaggins:** OMG DOG!? HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?! I’M DYING. LOOK! https://youtu.be/0ZqHuvEtKcY

**HotDogDays:** scared to click 

**Teabaggins:** OH COME ON. you’ve sent worse. Remember that gif from the MTT porn parody?!

**HotDogDays:** come on...why’d ya remind me?

**Teabaggins:** the bedazzled metallic peen. It had all the little lights on it.

**HotDogDays:** tea, buddy, pal, friendo...beggin ya, mercy.

**Teabaggins:** the fake orgasm trailing off into the last notes of his favorite musical number.

**HotDogDays:** is that your kink?

**Teabaggins:** YOU KNOW MY KINKS. Now CLICK THE LINK, you coward. YOU OWE ME.

It takes a moment for his reply to come back, but it’s so worth it.

**Hotdogdays:** shdndndnrjrjaoa that’s so messed up. so messed up. WTF is a maregasm. can’t ever show this to an aaron, promise me?!

You choke. It’s rare that Dog uses caps in his messages. It means he’s really been affected. Your laughter is hard to stifle as the implications hit you.

**HotDogDays:** PROMISE ME

**Teabaggins:** _ PROMISE! WOULDNT that be racist? _

**HotDogDays:** no, but don’t want one of them dudes getting ideas. have an aaron for a  _ neighBor  _ and i like my sleep, thanks.

**Teabaggins:** “the two souls merge and the mare makes a kind of oomph sound”

**HotDogDays:** **_tea im begging ya._ **

**Teabaggins:** IT WAS ON A REDDIT THREAD ABOUT A PRETTY HORSE

**HotDogDays:** if you listen closely, that’s the Void itself screaming in terror.

You laugh again. The wonderful thing about Bumblr is that it’s a secret haven for bad porn. Dig past all the fanfic and aesthetic compilations of pastel witches or whatever, and you get to the hilariously funny stuff.

A good laugh with a friend who doesn’t ask too many deep things. It’s what you’d needed.

\---

A high school friend had once told you to dress everyday like that was the day you were going to find your true love.

It was silly in hindsight, but it’s always been a nice little motivator to wake up and give yourself those extra ten minutes to get ready. It’s nicer than the usual “everyone judges by appearances” shtick at least. Everyone wants to look like their best self for the person they may end up with. (Not that Sans is that person. You’ve accepted that.)

Today you’d used those extra ten minutes to braid the sides of your hair and twisted the ends up into a bun with the rest of it. Your favorite pastel yellow cardigan offers you some warmth for the abnormally chilly day. 

**hepburn:** So...still up for a day at the park?

**sans:** about that. how about some grocery shopping instead?

You heft your backpack over your shoulder as you walk towards the bike racks at the front of campus. It’s not too long a ride to the park from here. It’s an even shorter ride to the grocery store you know Papyrus usually likes to frequent.

Strange as it is, it seems a lot more casual than the initial park outing and you feel some of the earlier anxiety slough off your shoulders.

**hepburn:** Sure! I’m running low on fruit and oatmeal!

**sans:** :P 

**Hepburn:** ???

**sans:** so healthy. too healthy. where’s the flavor?

You go still. He just yucked your yum. You love oatmeal! How...Ah...you get it. A warm smile graces your face. Not the usual neutral one. The one you’re not aware you have. 

He’s trying to play with you. This rings familiar. You’ve seen this tactic before, but rarely directed towards you. He’s usually so polite? Understanding? He’s being a bolder kind of silly and you like it. If this is what comes from friendship with Sans, you’re kind of excited to see where this goes. 

**Hepburn:** Look, I didn’t say this before, but someone who chugs ketchup out of a bottle has no right to judge my tastes.

You watch the three dots at the bottom of the screen keep flickering in and out. You panic for a moment, feeling your phone grow slippery in your clammy hands as you begin to sweat a bit. What if you’d hurt his feelings? What if he’s genuinely hurt? Oh god you fucked up. You fucked up and now he won’t even want to be your fri-

**sans:** your taste sucks. ketchup to my level. i condiment your honesty though.

Oh.

Ha ha...he’d just been working out a stupid pun. Oh god...maybe you need to walk yourself through the catastrophizing exercise again.

**Hepburn:** lol...good one.

You cringe. It wasn’t a good one by a long shot, but you can’t find it in you to push the boundaries anymore. This is a lot harder than you anticipated, screams your racing heart.

**sans:** :)

**Hepburn:** What store?

**sans:** ass bros. got a new flavor of those nice creams Paps likes

**Hepburn:** You mean Bass Bros?

**Sans:** not since that tree fell, hit the sign and caused that first b to black out.

**hepburn:** see you at BASS BROS, SANS.

**sans:** lmao

**Hepburn:** you have no ass.

You quickly put away your phone before you regret every single moment that led up to you sending that last message. You’re not sure if it’s giddiness or anxiety that’s making your heart race. You hate it, either way.

You unlock your bike and find your start a bit more wobbly than usual. You’d bought one with the seat too high at the lowest level, but you can’t return it now. You hate doing returns. So you’d sucked it up and adjusted to it as best as you could.

That seems to be a lot how you go about life. Sometimes it’s annoying. Sometimes it’s just sad.

\------

Sans stares incredulously at the exchange. He’s not sure if he’s just seeing things, but you’re actually play-fighting. It’s something you’ve hardly engaged in, with him least of all. 

There’s still some veneer of politeness, but you’d cracked it open just a little to push back against his intentional riffs. He’s...pleasantly surprised.

He’s tempted to type “you’re the ass” simply by habit, as he would with Undyne or TeaBaggins.

But then he remembers that you’re you and things are still raw and healing between you two, so he settles for an affronted emoji.

That should do it. 

Predictably, your reply is to arrive on time, immaculate despite the wind sweeping through the trees. He laughs when you, slightly out of breath, ask if you're late.

“relax bud. you’re right on time.” He says, walking with you to lock your bike up in front of the grocery store. He watches as you pull out a reusable shopping bag from your backpack. 

It’s adorable how prepared you are. He still remembers how on the day of Frisk’s address to the local university students, they’d torn their skirt when pacing around in one of the school’s gardens, practicing their speech. You’d been a tired student making your way home, but still, you’d taken the time to talk to the teary eyed kid dressed in a tutu and blazer.

You’d taken the pink ribbon from your hair, pulled out your sewing kit, and stitched said ribbon along the tear to patch it up. 

He’d arrived just in time to see you tie off the last loop. He’d hadn’t wanted to intrude. Frisk looked all too happy to throw themselves at you to give you a big embrace. They’d begun to chatter to you, in the unguarded way that Frisk does when they’ve found a friendly spirit. It was only when you had begun to look tired, your smile growing smaller, that he’d stepped in to call Frisk away.

That was the day you’d stitched your presence into their lives, and he’s sure it was a blessing.

His reverie is broken by a bright, floral bag being waved in his direction.

You look slightly concerned, offering him the bag sort of hesitantly. 

“Sorry. You spaced out a bit. I was just asking if you needed a shopping bag. I have extra.”

Sans reaches for it absently, glancing at the way your worry dims your eyes and your eyebrows furrow. The down turn of your mouth is fetching. He notices now that your eyebrows are uneven. That the earrings you have are tiny and mismatched.

Huh. It’s the little things that get him.

He coughs awkwardly, feeling the warmth scramble across his face.

“y-you...uh...thanks.” He takes the bag from you, momentarily forgetting that he usually puts his groceries in his magical phone storage for transport.

He grabs a shopping cart. It’s a little too tall for him to push, so he’s grateful when you take it from him and push it into the store.

“So, what’s on your list?”

“what list?”

“Your shopping list.”

Sans blinks up at you, wide starry eyes grow hazy.

“you’re supposed to have a list? i just roam round and get whatever looks interesting. if I’ve got something specific in mind, i jus’ go for it.”

“Oh boy.” You say. “No wonder it’s Paps who usually does the shopping.”

Sans shrugs. 

“he’s working today.”

“Gotcha.”

“and they’re having a sale on Heinz. if i came with my bro, he wouldn’t let me get the crate.”

“I see.” 

Sans chuckles, taking the worry on your face with humor.

“i told you, kid. im a gremlin. bad partner material. thought seeing me in my natural state would be a good way to show you what i meant.”

You mutter something about not feeding gremlins or trolls, but then sigh. Somehow, the neutral smile on your face returns as you compose yourself and he feels a little like you’ve just challenged him to prove himself.

“Alright, gremlin. I’ll bite. Let’s shop your way today. As long as I can get my oatmeal and fruit, I’m down for anything.”

Sans’ grin grows wider. You push the cart faster, not even realizing what aisle you’re heading into. Doesn’t matter...because somehow, Sans manages to spend thirty minutes looking through the varieties of bread, before deciding on a bag of hot dog buns.

You steel your patience and move on to the next aisle.

——

Sans feels a little bad. He’s usually pretty lazy about this sort of stuff, but it’s fun seeing the exasperation poke up into your pleasant expression.

He’d warned you. You’d gladly come along.

But he supposes you deserve a break after he’d asked you if pork ribs could be used to replace his own. You’d tried to take his hypothetical to heart. You’d really tried to provide a good explanation. For that, he owes you a coffee.

He offers to get you one from the in-store coffee shop.

Your relief is palpable as you accept his offer.

“Umm...the usual...just a black coffee with soy, please. I’ll pay you back.”

Sans waves that off, laughing that wonderful, rich baritone of his.

“nah. i owe you for the ribbing ya earlier. just curious. how are you walking right now?”

“Huh?” You look down at your penny loafers without thinking, only to find nothing there. 

Sans’ grin looks shit-eating. You can see the finger guns coming back up, and you lean against the shopping cart because it’s so dorky, it’s almost swoon worthy.

“cuz you lack toes? geddit? because you’re lactose intolerant?” The glee in his tone should be illegal. His smile’s doing that thing where it tugs at his eyes and the eye lights 

You feel something pleasant bubbling up in your throat. Despite your best attempt, it blooms large and pushes against your pursed lips. You purse them more, and the laugh rebels by shooting out your nose as a snort.

Sans looks victorious, giving an exaggerated bow in the middle of the aisle.

You chuck a crumpled coupon at him. It bounces harmlessly off his thick skull. He’s still laughing.

You’re not mad. The smile you don’t know about is on your face and he thinks it’s great.

———

You know you’d asked the barista for soy milk. You were sure of it. Sans had let you make your own order.

So it’s with a disguised bit of disappointment that you taste the creaminess of real milk in your coffee. It’s okay. It was a mistake. It happens.

Bummer. You’d really needed a pick me up after class and grocery shopping.

Maybe you can sip it a little so Sans won’t notice. Then when you get home, you can toss it. It’s not that big a deal. Just a little abdominal discomfort from a few sips. You can take that.

But a skeletal hand wraps itself around your cup, and plucks it effortlessly from you.

“they put in milk by accident, right? i can smell it. s’okay. we can just ask for a new one.”

You protest. Says it’s fine. You’re not that tired anyway. Sans looks at you with concern.

“imma go ask for you. that’s okay right?”

You stop your excuses. Stare at him with wide eyes and nod your head.

“T-thank you.”

Sans chuckles.

“no big deal. what are friends for?” He says, walking off with your milky coffee in hand to ask for a new one. Just like that.

It works out. Like it always seems to do for people like him with such wonderful surety in themselves.

You can’t help but feel a little frustrated with yourself as you sip at your drink. 

——

You two sit for a bit, huddled against the brisk air on a bench. Not your usual bench. The one that’s been ruined by your confession.

Just a bench by the side of the road leading up to Main Street. This part of the town is lined with gorgeous overarching trees that will fill up with purple blooms in September. 

For now, they provide a nice little reprieve from the busy parts of town. Your bike is secured next to you, your groceries in the front basket. 

Sans had offered to store yours in his phone until you’d parted ways, but you’ve seen his room. You’re not sure you trust he’s kept his inventory neat.

You’d politely declined.

So you sip your soy coffee in silence. Sans breaks it by being almost unbearably astute.

“i get it...the not asking thing? alphys doesn’t like asking either, so it’s uh...sometimes it’s nice to have a friend with ya when it happens.”

You look down at a droplet of coffee stuck on the lip of the lid. 

“Ah...yeah. I can see that. I’m...it’s something I’d like to work on.”

“no rush, you know? if...and maybe this is kind of uh assuming…but I’m here.”

Your smile isn’t quite there yet as you look at him.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Sans takes a long dreg of a newly opened ketchup bottle. He seems to be buying time to say something and you brace yourself for it.

“i...mean...honestly, i don’t think I gave you enough credit for when you confessed to me.”

You flinch.

He raises his hands and waves them in the air to seemingly wave off the awkward.

“i-i jus meant that I’m really flattered someone as amazing as you took the effort...and wow...built up that bravery enough to confess. i...can’t imagine how hard it was. y-you just made it look so easy.”

You can read between the lines.  _ You’re a mess. I saw it today _ . Or perhaps that’s just you projecting. You’re not being charitable to Sans. 

He takes your silence for anger and rushes to explain himself some more.

“just glad i got to learn more about you today…basically...is what I’m trying to say and doing a terrible job of it.”

“No. You’re not.” You tell him, looking up at the tree boughs brushing past each other. The warmth of your cup radiates just as hot as Sans’ shoulder pressed next to yours.

It’s grounding.

“I...I’m glad too.” You tell him. You decide to leave out the part that he’s not making it any easier. Just nine more days. You can do that for Sans, right? Just nine more days to let him assuage his guilt.

Sans doesn’t look entirely sure at your response. But he doesn’t push.

————

**Hotdogdays** : ya evr feel like a plastic bag?

**Teabaggins** : Drifting through the wind?

**Hotdogdays** : ???

**Teabaggins** : Never mind. What do you mean?

**Hotdogdays:** like trash.

**Teabaggins** : You okay there friendo?

**Hotdogdays:** not really. just one of those days.

**Teabaggins:** i know we don’t always do this whole dance and routine, but wanna talk about it? I’m here.

Sans smiles fondly at his phone, appreciative and melancholy.

**Hotdogdays:** it’s complictd 

**Teabaggins:** Wouldn’t expect anything less from someone who posts about the physics in Treasure Planet

**Hotdogsdays:** hey! i made good pts

**Teabaggins:** hey hey, not saying you didn’t, but you keep reblogging it at peak hours to get more notes. don’t think I didn’t notice

**Hotdogdays:** stop stalking me, stalker.

**Teabaggins** : start talking then. Jk jk. Only if you wantZ

**Hotdogdays:** uhhhh

**Teabaggins:** No rush. No pressure. Just...hmm need a distraction?

Sans sighs in relief, his Soul flooding with affection and gratitude for Teabaggins. They just always know the right things to say. There are days where he’s drowning. After all, who’d listen if you talk about time loops and baby faced murderers even as hypotheticals? Who’d listen and not think he was going insane? No one. Even Teabaggins. 

That’s not ther burden to carry, but sometimes...sometimes it doesn’t take much when he’s talking to them to make him feel like he can keep his skull above water. Just for a few moments.

He’s grateful for that.

**Hotdogdays:** yes pwease

**Teabaggins:** here. It’s great material. 

That doesn’t sound promising. He’s scared to click the link.

It’s a Bumblr post. It’s...oh for the love of...well that’s…the Onceler with a thick hind side. Ugh. Edited to be increasingly wider with each reblog.

He chuckles.

**Teabaggins:** how thi-I-iccc can I be?

**Hotdogdays:** noooo stop.

**Teabaggins:** Distracting enough?

**Hotdogdays:** thanks i hate it.

**Teabaggins:** You’re welcome.

Sans types out a reply. It sits there in the draft box, the cursor flashing up at him tauntingly. He remembers your brave face the day you’d confessed to him. Serene and eyes blazing with an earnestness he hadn’t seen in many places.

And then he remembers you in the grocery store. Hesitating to ask for something so small, so insignificant. The dichotomy is enticing, engaging...inspiring.

What a coward he is compared to brilliant you? He can’t even send a simple text to the one he claims to like.

He sighs and flops back on his mattress, the crumpled sheets digging into his spine, but he’s too lazy to move them. The impact squishes his phalange against his phone screen.

He gets the usual alert and panics.

_ Message Sent _

**Hotdogdays:** But i like you

Sans feel the panic flare in his chest, heating up his bones until chilled sweat begins to collecting at the back of his skull.

_Teabaggins is typing..._

”fuck.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> EVERYONE STAY SAFE! I know this is a scary time. Things are very weird and news keeps changing. The best thing you can do right now is practice the advice given by medical professionals and find light in the places you know where to look. 
> 
> I mostly wanted to write a light hearted story to distract myself. So have this short one.


End file.
